It Was the Easiest Day

#. September 28, 2020

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

Football was, of course, the most important factor in my decision to go to college, but I'd still given some thought to the academic side of things too.

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I'd found history genuinely interesting in high school and had actually considered majoring in it, but in the end I'd concluded that it made more sense to choose a field I'd already studied in my past life.

At Columbia, I'd earned a business-related degree, and as it happened, Georgia had the Terry College of Business.

A top-40 MBA program in the nation.

Not that I had any intention of actually earning a degree in this life.

Football keeps me busy enough as it is.

Still, I figured majoring in Georgia's high-caliber business education was a pretty good opportunity.

So the class I picked was Business Communication.

Not a bad major for a quarterback, either.

"Alright. That's it for today."

The professor took off his glasses and ended the class, and I finished jotting down my notes and packed up my bag.

"Moi?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"How was class today?"

"Good. The examples you gave about functions were really interesting. Especially the part about raising productivity through online business platforms during COVID."

"You are... an interesting one, as always."

"That's a compliment, right?"

"It is."

"Haha. Glad to hear it. See you next class. Oh—mask! These days that's the most important thing of all. SEE YA!"

Finally.

Classes were done for the day.

I stretched outside the lecture hall, then headed off to afternoon practice.

The team was currently running split sessions: 5:30 to 7:30 in the morning, and 4:30 to 6:30 in the evening.

There was still some time before the afternoon session, so I planned to get some lifting in.

"Haaay."

"Hey."

On campus, I was, naturally, a celebrity.

After the first game, it only got worse.

The girls who threw themselves at me this openly—

Hmm.

The average had grown from around ten to thirty or so.

Though that was just counting today.

Thank God for COVID—the girls didn't wait outside the dorms anymore, and I can't tell you how grateful I was for that.

I could just ignore them or brush them off, sure.

But honestly, it's a pain in the neck.

When they sometimes showed up in groups of two or three with friends in tow, I might hesitate a little—but when it came down to it, safety first, always.

Clank—

Clank—

One thing that was definitely different about college compared to high school was how many guys trained on their own.

Georgia was an elite program in particular, and since everyone here dreamed of making the NFL, they threw themselves into self-improvement with everything they had.

"How much you got on there now?"

"Hoo— hoo— 150 pounds."

"150? Nice."

Zamir was already curling 150 pounds (about 68 kg).

Biceps, in other words.

But he had plenty more in the tank.

He knew it too.

Two more 10-pound plates went onto the barbell, and I warmed up while watching him work.

"Let's Go— Z!!"

"Hoo! I can do this. I can do this. Hoo! Hoo!"

Having steadied his breathing, Zamir pulled the bar off the rack and started curling again.

I raised my voice beside him.

"That's it! THAT'S IT!!"

It goes without saying, but when someone's screaming encouragement next to you while you lift, you squeeze out a few extra reps.

And above all, we were football players.

When you make this much noise—

"COME ON!!"

"You've got MORE in you!!"

People naturally drift over and shout along with you.

It's the simplest way to heat up the atmosphere.

The only question is who goes first.

A loud gym beats a quiet gym any day.

At least on a football training ground.

"He's got him BEAT!! He's got him BEAT!!"

Zamir finished off fifteen curls at 200 pounds, absolutely electric, and let out a roar.

Then I stepped into the squat rack and pulled the bar onto my back.

Since it was a warm-up, I kept it light.

300 pounds (about 136 kg).

Clank.

"Hoo—"

Clank.

"Hoo—"

It was going to be like this from now on, too.

That was what Mondays looked like.

Everyone spent the off day nursing whatever got banged up or sore in the previous game, then on Monday morning received more specialized treatment and worked on their conditioning. By afternoon came individual training like this, and later everyone gathered in the meeting rooms.

One hour of team meetings.

One hour of position meetings.

People would be shocked if they knew how often football players sit in meetings every week.

During camp, three times a day.

Once a day during the season.

Other positions get off easy with just the team and position meetings, but quarterbacks have to sit in some of the coaches' meetings too.

Like right now.

"Can you back it up a second?"

"…"

"A little more. Yes. Right there."

Click.

The team we were facing this weekend was Auburn, in Alabama.

The same school I'd made an unofficial visit to last year.

The dorms there were seriously incredible.

160 Ross, was it?

Four bathrooms. Just the bathrooms.

"Isn't the safety's positioning a little off?"

"What was the play call again?"

"Hmm…"

A football coaching staff runs about twenty-five strong.

Every position under the sun is covered.

Add in the video analysts and recruiting crew?

You blow past forty easily.

Anyway.

Among all those various roles, there's one that's essentially a kind of spy.

Everyone knows NCAA teams snoop on and outright steal other schools' playbooks, so we already knew a good chunk of Auburn's tactics ourselves.

"Right. The strong safety blew the assignment."

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Because it's off."

"Off? Off how?"

The design of football plays runs the whole gamut, but there are still certain universal rules.

That was the lens through which I pointed out the oddity, and when Coach Monken asked how I'd known, I just answered that it was a quarterback's instinct.

["Um, I was a head coach in my past life?"]

Not exactly something I could say out loud.

Click.

"Alright. Let's call it there for today."

"Hoo— it's been a long one, Sir?"

"Haha. Go get some sleep."

"Yes, Sir."

We ate dinner before the last meeting of the day.

The coaches take turns buying it for us.

The time was 7:50 in the evening.

"Whew—!"

I had to be up at 4:50 again tomorrow morning, so I figured I'd better get back to my room and crash.

"I'm cutting off here."

"Heading straight back to the dorm?"

"Yeah."

Me, Stetson, and Carson—the three of us always walked together.

And always split at the same spot.

Stetson turned left first and headed north, and I walked a little further with Carson until we parted ways at the East Campus Village, where the four dorm buildings cluster together.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Night."

"You too."

I hurried into the dorm building and checked my mailbox.

Figuring there might be something from home—

Sadly, nothing.

Ding—

The upcoming game against Auburn mattered quite a lot.

It was called the Deep South's Oldest Rivalry—a genuinely ancient grudge match dating back to 1892.

And surprisingly, the head-to-head record was razor-tight.

60 wins, 56 losses, and 8 ties.

We held the slightest of edges.

For the record, if a football game is still deadlocked after ten minutes of overtime, it's simply declared a tie on the spot.

Click.

I showered the moment I got home, felt a little peckish, and had a snack.

Only then did I finally check my phone.

A DM flood from Alexi.

I was a bit tired, but for Alexi, who was giving off faint traces of sulking, I exchanged DMs pretty diligently.

"…Damn. I'm beat."

Having nearly dozed off mid-conversation, I hurried into my bedroom, killed the lights, lay down, and made a call.

-Hello?

"I'm just about to sleep."

-Already?

Girls who've never dated a football player take time to adjust to our lives.

But did you know?

Since today was Monday—

"That was the easiest day of the week."

-So tomorrow's even busier?

"I promise I'll text back as much as I can."

-You promise?

"Yeah."

So please.

Would you let me sleep now?

-Good night. I can't wait for Saturday.

"Me neither. You know that, right? You have to think about me a lot."

-Hahahaha. How can you just say that?

"How? Easy. You know, right? Think about me lots and lots."

-Okay, okay. Really, good night.

Click.

If you start a call with a girl who's feeling a little hurt—

You have to leave her smiling when you hang up.

That way there's no stress later.

Fortunately, I managed to pull it off, and set the phone by my pillow right away.

Seriously.

I'm going to fall asleep in seconds…

#. September 29, 2020

#-1. Athens, Georgia, USA

#-2. University of Georgia

Like I said.

Tuesday was when the real grind began.

Workout from 6 to 8 in the morning.

Thirty minutes of practice schedule review from 8.

Then a shower, and off to class.

"The key point to note here is…"

"…"

Ah, damn, I almost nodded off.

This class's professor is unbearably boring.

After about five hours of three or four classes that way, we'd grab lunch, and then we regrouped at Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall.

Film session, they call it.

We watch all kinds of footage.

This counts as a meeting too.

"As you can see, Auburn runs this formation…"

But since it was football film, after all—

Barely anyone dozed off.

"Damn it. I bombed the quiz."

"You bombed the last one too."

"I'm screwed."

"Can you still pull a B-minus?"

"No. A D is my best case."

"You'd better hit up the ASC."

"Yeah, that's what I figured."

When film session ended, we chattered like this while heading to the locker room with our teammates.

Starting Tuesday, afternoon field practice ran concurrently at the House of Payne, but before that, from 2:30, we spent about forty-five minutes getting dressed and taping up various parts of our bodies.

Some of it was for existing aches and pains.

But mostly it was injury prevention.

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"That's it! What was with that gutless performance earlier?"

"My shoulder wasn't warmed up enough, Sir."

"How does that janky shoulder of yours pull this every single time?"

"Good cars are just built that way, Sir."

"You're hilarious! More like a junker!"

"Like your car, Coach?"

"Kiss my ass!! Get the hell out of here!!"

As time passed, the other quarterbacks had grown used to how to talk with Coach Monken, too.

Everyone had finally figured out that beneath the foul mouth, he was soft as putty if you pressed the right spot.

"You starting up slow like that junker too?"

"No, Sir. The stitches just weren't wound tight enough."

"You'd better not make mistakes like that in a game."

"Yes, Sir."

Field practice ran about two and a half hours.

Afterward came another shower and a change of clothes.

Day over, you ask?

Perish the thought.

From 7, about fifty minutes of dinner together, everyone.

Football scholarship players get their meals guaranteed for free.

Walk-Ons—regular members of the athletic program—do not.

But none of that mattered; we all just ate together anyway.

A D1 school isn't petty enough to sweat that kind of thing.

This minor rules violation gets a knowing wink.

Once dinner was done—

Only then did the day actually end.

That is.

The football-related part of it, anyway.

"You heading straight to the ASC?"

"Yeah. Gotta."

"They did tell you to study ahead of time."

"Not everyone's got a brain like yours, you know?"

"It was barely high-school-level math."

"Tch. Numbers hate me."

Jermaine Burton walked off toward the ASC to deal with his grades, and I wished the guy luck.

For the record, ASC stands for Academic Support Center.

The academic support center.

Every athlete at Georgia got help managing their grades at the ASC, and for the ones who let their studies slide, it became the most-visited building after the practice field.

There, athletes received tutoring, got chances to salvage bombed quiz scores, and got advice on keeping their GPAs afloat.

If I hadn't been good at studying, I would've spent these golden hours at the ASC too.

And why were they golden hours?

Because you could use them for assignments and studying, of course.

For the kids who went to the ASC, midnight arrived before their homework ended.

"Whew—!"

10:20 at night.

Only then did Tuesday end.

Oh, and one more thing worth mentioning?

Tomorrow gets even busier.

Hm?

Didn't I say that yesterday?

True.

It was a little much.

Just a bit.

But it was cute.

Having finished my homework (school) and my other homework (Alexi), I sank into the couch at my leisure and stretched both legs out.

I was a little drowsy.

But I didn't want to sleep yet.

I set an ice-cold soda and a bag of potato chips beside me and turned on ESPN.

The NFL had been through its own COVID-related drama, but the country's biggest sports industry couldn't simply stop, and the league had been running normally since September 10th.

Tonight's game was Kansas City Chiefs versus the Baltimore Ravens, and that's what I planned to fall asleep to.

Oh, and for the record—the school pays for this ESPN channel too.

Every cable channel comes through in the dorm.

Which is, seriously, awesome.

"…"

Munch munch—

Crunch crunch—

The man I was focused on right now was the Kansas City Chiefs' quarterback.

Patrick Mahomes, who in just three years in the league had established himself as its best player.

We were pretty close, he and I.

※ Patrick Mahomes' tweets about Moi

#. October 2, 2020

#-1. Auburn, Alabama, USA

#-2. Auburn University

#-3. Woltosz Football Performance Center

Auburn, ranked No. 8 in the preseason AP Poll, had opened the season by dispatching No. 23 Kentucky 29-13.

Fourteen fourth-quarter points decided it.

One of them came on a 21-yard pass from the quarterback.

Bo Nix.

Having judged that landing Moi would be too difficult, Auburn had pinned its hopes on the Arkansas-born quarterback they'd brought in as a heralded freshman in 2019.

Bo Nix, out of Pinson Valley High School in Alabama, had been rated the No. 1 dual-threat quarterback at graduation, and his first full season as a starter laid bare his strengths and weaknesses with brutal clarity.

The peril of a true freshman who couldn't quite shed the high school label left onlookers' palms drenched in sweat.

Season passing yards: 2,542.

Sixteen touchdowns.

195.5 yards per game.

Six interceptions.

Taken alone, those numbers looked decent enough—but it took a few more metrics to make the evaluation honest.

A 57.6% completion rate (217 of 377).

More than ten failed pass attempts per game.

And swings in form that were massive.

On his good days, he completed over 70% of his passes and slashed his way to rushing touchdowns in a dazzling display; in other games, his completion rate didn't even crack 40%.

Because of exactly that kind of Bo Nix—

Auburn had wanted Moi.

Even if Nix chose to transfer, they'd have had no great regrets, and after all, they'd already lived through one true freshman quarterback.

Auburn's head coach: Gus Malzahn.

This man, too, carried real regret.

"We've got to wall it up on defense."

The day before the Georgia game, Gus Malzahn sat eating pizza with his coaches.

And as he ate, he laid out everything they'd prepared over the past week.

The defense.

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The Georgia defense built by Kirby Smart and Glenn Schumann sat at the top of the SEC, and the odds of Bo Nix cracking it were vanishingly slim.

That meant the way to raise Auburn's win probability was to contain Georgia's scoring and drag the game into a low-scoring slog.

Besides, he believed his own defensive unit was pretty solid in its own right.

K.J. Britt.

Chandler Wooten.

Roger McCreary.

Jamien Sherwood.

All defensive backs projected as NFL draft picks next year, and if these men showed up big, they could hold down Georgia's offense.

And then.

One more thing.

Something Malzahn liked to insist on.

"Moi's still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a freshman, in the end."

Just as it had been with Bo Nix.

Moi would wobble too.

Considering the gulf in level between the NFHS and the NCAA—

It was a guess with a fair amount of evidence behind it.

"A few blitzes, a couple of sheds, a couple of big hits—no doubt about it, he'll shrink. Ruining an offense is easy. All you have to do is rattle the quarterback. Though, of course, it's also the hardest thing to do."

"Hahaha."

"Haha."

Ruining an offense is easy.

But actually pulling it off is hard.

This paradoxical line was a joke that had circulated among football coaches for decades, and Gus Malzahn told it now, doing his best to loosen the mood of the room.

A match that carried some weight.

The Rivalry.

It came around every year, true.

But he knew the spotlight about to pour down on this one would be colossal.

And so Gus Malzahn intended to be ready, down to the bone.

Tomorrow.

The Deep South's Oldest Rivalry would unfold.